


Laddy

by Fanfreluche



Series: Dresden - Montana - Berlin [6]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Nineties, Anal Sex, Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Needles, Oral Sex, Piercings, Rough Sex, Smut, club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-27 22:09:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfreluche/pseuds/Fanfreluche
Summary: Autumn of 1991, the Cold War is officially over and Arthur gets trolled.





	Laddy

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty dark in the middle, please check the tags. 
> 
> For those who are new to the series, Dutch owns a club in Berlin (Charles is the bartender, Javier is the DJ), and Arthur is an artist who's been living in the city for the past couple of years. 
> 
> Music in the background is in bold-italics.
> 
> Quote is from _Lord of the Flies_.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Arthur couldn’t decide which was more awkward: the uncomfortable silence as he sat across Hosea Matthews in a room that looked more like an antique store than a living room; the difference between the way they were dressed; his host’s permanent frown and occasional huffs; the awful tasting liquorice tea he was politely forcing himself to take a sip of every now and then; or Eartha Kitt singing ‘My Heart Belongs to Daddy’ in the background…

Felt just like when he had met Mr Gillis for the first time on the night he was supposed to take Mary to the prom. Only the Gillis house was not as nearly well-decorated. He looked at the mantle clock again. It was nearly five.

“It’s been almost an hour,” The man spoke, lifting his eyes from the newspaper he was reading to look at him from above silver-rimmed specs. “I wouldn’t wait any longer if I were you.”

“Right.” Arthur gladly placed the godawful brew on the wooden surface of the coffee table. “Guess I should be leaving then. Thanks for-”

“You don’t have to leave,” Hosea remarked just as he was about to get up. “We can have a chat, if you like. In fact, I think that’s what he may have wanted.”

“Is it?” Arthur sat back in the sofa’s relative comfort.

“Well, he invited you over knowing I would be here, without informing me first, and hasn’t shown up himself contrary to what he told you. Knowing him, it was intentional.”

“What are we supposed to talk about?”

Hosea sighed. “I’m not sure, Arthur- if I may? I don’t usually get to meet Dutch’s young friends in circumstances such as this. Perhaps he just wants us to get to know each other.”

Arthur’s gaze fell to the floor, tracing the elaborate floral designs on the carpet. Realising he had been pressing his palms too tightly together, he untangled his fingers and rested his back against the sofa once more, lifting his eyes only when he heard the other man moving.

“Who do you prefer?” Hosea was asking, now standing by the vintage gramophone, holding at least half a dozen vinyl records up for him to see. “Mary? Ella? Marilyn? Anita? Julie? Peggy?” 

Arthur was confused for a moment and pointed at a record randomly. Matthews shook his head and put the record on. Fuck, the same song…

“Marilyn Monroe.” Hosea intoned, levelling his squinting eyes on him as he sat down again. “Are you some sort of diva, Mr Morgan?”

“What? No.” 

He didn’t look convinced. “More tea?”

“No, thank you.”

There was that again, the uneasy silence. Now with Monroe’s voice in the background...

“So, who’s your favourite?” Arthur asked, to make conversation. “From the...” He motioned at the records.

“Gerry Mulligan and Chet Baker, of course. Otherwise Fitzgerald, 1956 rendition.” Hosea explained, putting his own tea cup on a coaster, which made Arthur shift his own onto a coaster as well. “They are all his gifts. Every year since we met he gives me a recording of the same song on my birthday.”

“How many do you have?”

“Twenty.”

Shit. Even the thought of it… Arthur felt somewhat embarrassed, though not enough apparently to not ask the question that followed: “And are you… his daddy?”

He hadn’t expected Hosea to laugh. At least not like this, so jolly and amused, heartfelt even. It made him relax a bit more.

“No,” Hosea responded. “It’s a joke. When we’d just met, someone called him my ‘sugar baby’ - probably cause I was fussing over him - which wounded his pride as you can imagine, and since then I’ve been sentenced to listening to the same song over and over again.” He could clearly detect the fondness in his voice when he continued: “Dutch and I, we’ve always been more partners in crime than anything else, regardless of the age difference.”

“You live here together?”

“This is my house. He sometimes stays here, but has his own place.” 

“How did you meet?” Arthur asked, genuinely interested. They seemed so different in temperament.

Hosea smiled. “We met in East Berlin, when he broke into my apartment. A more hot-headed communist punk I’d never met in my entire life, and incredibly intelligent. Even now, just don’t ask him about utopia...”

“He’s from the East then?” Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Why don’t you ask the details yourself? For now, tell me about yourself. How did you get here?”

Arthur spoke a bit about his background, out of politeness and as little as necessary, since the man had shared some of his story as well. He couldn’t tell from Matthews’s expression what he was thinking, but at some point he appeared to have become less vigilant, though he must have remained somewhat wary judging by his next question.

“What are your expectations?” Hosea asked eventually. “From Dutch, I mean.”

None of your business, he was going to say, but held his tongue. Years of living with Marston had taught him all about the ills an unfiltered mouth could unleash, dear as it may be. Still, he didn’t take kindly to being interrogated by strangers.

“I ask because I’m concerned for you as much as I am for him,” Hosea resumed when he witnessed Arthur’s silence, tone gradually softening. “You don’t seem the using type, though associating with him benefits you I’m sure, has already in fact, with his connections helping to set up an exhibition, if I’m not mistaken?” He paused, sipped some tea. “Dutch isn’t as unfeeling as he looks. He tends to only see the good in a person he likes, and when they eventually disappoint him it breaks his heart. My understanding is that over the years he has come to know himself better, which is probably why he wanted me to meet you, to make sure you are alright, a second opinion, as it were. He probably likes you too much to be able to tell himself.” 

Arthur didn’t know what to say. It didn’t seem fair to him that he should be put under a magnifying glass like this. For some reason, everything he’d heard aggravated him. And it wasn’t because he’d noticed how Hosea seemed to remove all blame from Dutch by minimising his responsibility in the outcomes of his relationships - out of affection, no doubt, but… For a moment, he wanted nothing better than to leave the apartment. Leave Berlin even, go somewhere no one knew him and thought it their business to judge him or make demands from him, but he inhaled a deep breath and calmed down eventually, enough to rationalise and realise how most of all he was mad at himself, because on an instinctual level he had always known that-

“I suggest you don’t over-analyse what I’ve just told you.”

He looked up at the man, wondering if he was a mind-reader.

“What I’m saying is it may not be easy.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Are you angry?” 

His every move was being carefully scrutinised.

“I am, yes, generally,” Arthur chuckled, which sounded a bit brittle, so he shook his head and sighed. “I’m not sure I get what you want from me. I enjoy Dutch’s company, very much so in fact, but I can’t promise I’ll never- I don’t even know where I’ll be in a year’s time. Look, I understand you care for him, but I ain’t so strong myself. What I want is… I don’t know what I want.”

“At least you’re honest about it.” Hosea smiled, which was unexpected. “Call me a fool, but I have a good feeling about you.”

Fool.

“Is that what you’re going to report back to him?”

“That’s for me to decide, young man.” 

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” Arthur looked straight into Matthews’s eyes, deciding to say what was on his mind now that they’d past the threshold. “You don’t mind that he sleeps with other men? With me, for instance?”

“If I did, you’d know…” Strangely enough, Hosea’s tone grew even more light-hearted. “Some of them I did mind, mostly because they were nasty bastards the lot of them. Now, do _you_ mind, Arthur?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“You think I should?”

“Your decision entirely. It’s just that from what I’ve heard, the way he described you to me... But let’s leave that for later.”

Arthur didn’t have a response to an unasked question, and the conversation that followed focused partly on political and partly on cultural topics; apparently Matthews was a great fan of David Lean and was much saddened by his death. Arthur told him how he reminded him a bit of O’Toole’s Lawrence, but couldn’t tell if the man took the remark as a compliment...

By the time he got out of the house, he was thankful to have regained his freedom. Hosea was a pleasant enough fellow to talk to, if somewhat intense, and when not intruding into his personal affairs, but Arthur’s mind was swimming in all sorts of thoughts now. He needed to speak with Dutch, so he headed where he assumed he might find him. The club was closed at this time of the day, of course, but Karl was there. In the past year, he’d struck a friendship with the man and they got on pretty well. Karl invited him to have a drink with him, which he gratefully accepted, mostly in order to drown the taste of that terrible tea… They went to a bar nearby and talked so much it was past midnight when they returned to the club.

“There he is, the missing bartender!”

While Karl’s replacement nagged him to take over his duties, Arthur cast a look around. The club was gloomier than usual that night, lights all blue and darkish violet, sullen music - some variation of ‘Come As You Are’ morphing into ‘Don’t Cry’, and R.E.M. losing their religion to the background beat of ‘Sadeness’ - and patrons who might have jumped out of an Allen Poe story. He asked if Dutch was around and was told that he was in his office, which was confirmed when he looked up and saw him standing behind the large inner window. Too far for him to be able to see his expression. He trotted upstairs.

“You like him?” Dutch asked, lighting two cigars, offering him one.

Arthur held the cigar between his thumb and index finger and took a deep drag. “Karl? Sure. He’s a decent fellow.”

“Try not to distract him from his job next time.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows and took off his brown leather jacket, threw it on the black leather couch, sitting on the arm as he stared out the window, watching a dancer absently, holding back a sigh when he felt a touch ghosting on the nape of his neck, growing more tangible when digits slid downwards, just a little bit, under his t-shirt, thumb resting on the side of his neck, as if checking his pulse. 

“Awfully depressing down there,” He said at length, eyes still trained on the dancefloor downstairs while trying not to lean into the soothing touch. 

“Javier broke up with his boyfriend,” Came the calm explanation. “Before it was all George Michael, when times were good between them, we even had a theme night on cowboys and angels.”

Arthur tilted his head to look at Dutch. “Which were you?”

“An angel, naturally.” Dutch responded, a smile emerging at the corner of his mouth, from which a plume of smoke was presently expelled. “I would have invited you if I knew where you were.”

“You know I don’t like costumes.”

“You wouldn’t have needed one.” Dutch straightened his torso, letting his hand glide up to ruffle Arthur’s hair. By now he was used to it, so he didn’t object, much. “Just a cowboy hat would have done the trick rather nicely...”

“You’d like that, huh?” Arthur smirked. “_Just_ a cowboy hat?”

Dutch hummed and moved to sit in the middle of the couch, while Arthur let himself fall off the arm, his back now resting on the cushions and legs dangling off the side of the couch, head touching the other man’s thigh. He bit and chewed on the two fingers that were idly introduced into his mouth, replacing the cigar which was taken away. Gazes found each other.

“This song gets to me… Come, Arthur, cheer me up some. Suck my cock.”

Metallica, was it?

“Ask nicely and I might.” He pushed the hand away when it tried to pull him to the floor by the collar of his t-shirt.

“Didn’t have to that time right here in the office, remember?”

“That was a one-time special service for first-time customers.”

Dutch huffed. “Suck my cock, _please_.”

Arthur slid lazily to the floor and between the other’s legs, spread them open, and rested his chin on his hands, elbows propped on Dutch’s thighs. Stared up at him.

“Make me.”

Was stared down at. Dutch was quick when he moved in the next instant to grab the back of his neck, but Arthur was faster, blocked the incoming offensive, countered it by quickly shifting to straddle the man’s lap, seizing his hands on the way up, holding them over his head securely. 

“Tsk, too slow.”

Before Dutch could open his mouth to respond, he bent and kissed him something fierce on the mouth, bitter taste of cigar on his tongue as it clashed with his. Then pulled back as abruptly as he’d closed in, humming in delight.

“Too slow, Van der Linde.”

He could feel him come to life under him, pupils darkening, skin heated, the way his arms twisted, thighs pushing up ever so slightly, muscles straining, and of course something else too. Arthur laughed a throaty laugh, hoarse with lust, bent to bite the side of Dutch’s neck, breaking skin, then licked it better, this time whispering. 

“Wonder what you’ve done to become unforgiven…”

“Something wicked.”

“A wicked angel…” He rolled his hips, just once, grinning to sense the reaction. “Whoever heard of that?”

“Hmm, let me see… Milton?”

It took him by surprise. As if he knew, though of course he couldn’t have, since he hadn’t told him anything about Jim Milton. But the pause was long enough to give the other a chance to free his hands. Strong claws clasped his waist, pulling him close so their hardening lengths pressed against each other now. He bit his lower lip not to sigh when a hand reached to pinch his left nipple, followed by the right, the same hand moving upwards now to slip a thumb into his mouth. He bit it. Dutch didn’t flinch. Knew his ways by now no doubt, had expected it.

“Be good, Arthur. I might even reward you.”

“Wha’ kinf of rehar’?”

He spat the thumb out and chuckled to hear the answer, murmured low. Pretended to be thinking for a moment, though didn’t really need to, before nodding slowly, and even slower was his descent onto the floor.

Arthur unzipped Dutch’s trousers, began rubbing the already straining length through the black briefs, wet and sticky from precum. He leant and munched on the shaft some, biting into the cloth, growling low to feel digits sliding through and then gripping his hair, firmly. Taking in the heady scent, he moved lower, nibbling on the heavy round balls now resting on the palm of one hand, the other slowly freeing the member from its confinement. 

Licking all the way up, he took the glistening head in his mouth, purring to hear the other’s low hum when he flicked a teasing tongue around the metal loop and over the slit and back, now pulling the briefs farther down, grinning when the fully rigid cock bounced and hit him in the chin.

The palm of one hand ran all the way up to feel Dutch’s abdomen, muscles tensed from pleasure, covered in thick fur, while he took him fully in his mouth, mmmm, just a bit of teeth, so he’d tug harder on his hair, and Arthur sucking harder now, squeezing the base of the shaft tighter, thumb playing with the rings absently, his own cock leaking in his jeans, heat rushing to his belly and he sucked sucked sucked, hmmm… 

Had to press his hand down to keep him in check when he bucked into his mouth, trying to push all the way into his throat, but he wouldn’t give him that, not today. Grunted in warning even and lifted his eyes, tongue twirling around the silken smooth hood now, to glare at him for good measure… Hadn’t expected the shark-sharp grin, or being pushed back suddenly, or kissed even more abruptly, or slapped lightly, then whispered to, filth that trickled down his spine straight into his aching prick…

Licking, licking, sucking harder now, hearing the other’s short breaths right above his head, words still murmuring into his ears, in three languages, him purring back like an animal, lips slick and hot and swollen…

Was shoved back again when Dutch proceeded to pump once and twice and then spilled his cum on Arthur’s face, hair, mouth, pushing himself back in only briefly before pulling him up to lick and kiss all over his face and lips, then drawing back just as he was going to kiss him back, gaze locked, grinning. Almost no barriers between them at moments like this, almost. So that he imagined he saw him grow sad a moment before turning away to get up. 

“Up, son. Time for you reward,” Dutch quirked an eyebrow. “Unless that was enough?”

Ten minutes later Arthur was half-reclining shirtless on the couch, right hand lazily stroking his cock while eyeing Dutch put on a pair of gloves. His other hand slowly inched up to pinch with his left nipple, twisting and playing with the piercing he’d got half a year ago.

“That one healed well by the look of it.” Dutch lifted his eyes to meet Arthur’s. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I like it.”

“Good. Are you ready, Arthur?”

He licked his lips and laid his head against the back of the couch in response, eyes still trained on Dutch, hand still working at his shaft. He closed his eyes when his Adam’s apple was licked then kissed. Opened them again when he felt his right nipple being held between latex-covered fingertips and rolled till it was taut and all tingly, then moist with alcohol.

He stilled his fingers and kept his eyes levelled on Dutch’s as he positioned the clamps and pushed the needle in. Feeling it now. Quick and neat, like the first time. Quick also to move his gaze to see his expression, like the first time, for only a moment before inserting the piercing and removing the needle.

His breath hitched when Dutch bent to lick the teardrop off his right cheek, leaning further in to purr something into his ear that drew out a single drop of tear from another part of him. He tightened his grip on the base of his own cock to stop himself from letting go.

“Are you?”

The question was repeated in its full form now in a soft murmur. He was looking at him, gaze firm and darker now that he was frowning.

Arthur bit his lower lip, hard, half-smirking, panting, tracing the inner lining of his own teeth with his tongue.

Dutch must have seen his answer in his eyes, since his frustration grew, he withdrew and briefly looked to his left, then- 

SLAP.

He growled low at the sting of the slap. Almost roused to pounce on him, pay him back in kind, but held back. And Dutch saw it, since he smiled, that usual devilish smile when something wicked pleased him. He pushed Arthur’s hand away from his cock and gave it a few jerks, making him close his eyes in bliss, and then open them again in anger when the hand left, all cold and wet now.

SLAP.

“Are you, Arthur?”

_Never._

SLAP.

And this time he couldn’t hold back, lunged forward but was pushed back immediately, pinned to the couch with a hand on his throat, a knee pressing down on his inner thigh. Dutch’s other hand found its way to his newly pierced nipple, circling it with an index finger, threateningly close, before sliding over his chest to the other one.

“Unff…” 

The bastard was grinning when he bent to lick and bite his lower lip. To his surprise, he almost looked kind when he pulled away and stared at him, loosening the grip on his throat.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Arthur.”

Something in the way he said it irritated him. Like he meant it, when-

“Let me guess, you just want to...” Arthur paused, his smirk right then must have been pretty bitter when he spoke the rest in a hushed tone.

Another slap and this time he pushed back with enough force to throw him off himself, anger flooding to the surface finally so much so that he feared he might do something terrible if their eyes met. Arthur quickly grabbed his t-shirt, tucked himself in his jeans and left the club from the backdoor. In the dark, stinking alley, he pulled his t-shirt on, wincing at the contact, lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall, sinking into a squat by the time he’d taken the second drag, hand resting against his brow, fingers clutching at his damp hair. 

_Fuck..._

What the hell was he doing? All this mess… He smiled to himself, was getting funny, the predictability of it.

“It needs to be disinfected.”

He flinched to hear the voice. Looked up to see him sporting that expression again, blank. 

Arthur pushed himself up to his feet, threw the cigarette away. “I’ll do it later.”

“Be sensible.” Dutch stepped back inside, leaving the door open. 

He followed in, let him disinfect the fresh piercing, trying to ignore a reviving arousal. He had noticed it too, and Arthur expected an incoming snide comment, which didn’t come, however, and instead he was kissed softly on the mouth. Shocked him so much he pushed him back. Stared at Dutch like he was crazy or something. Probably was. 

“Arthur.” Dutch spoke calmly, tone low and measured, lullaby-sweet, and head slightly tipped forward. “Are you?”

He continued staring at him for a second or two longer before nodding, almost involuntarily.

“Say it. I want to hear you say it.”

He waited for a moment before saying it. Dutch’s face lit up instantly. He looked genuinely pleased. He could even hear a rumble of pleasure as he leant to kiss the side of his neck. 

“I don’t need to hear it, you do. Do you understand?”

It did something to him, answering affirmatively. At once he was filled with a sense of wonder and shame, in a very odd way, like it was alright to feel shame and that in itself was comforting. 

“Well then… Now that that’s done,” Dutch wiped his hands, stood up. “Get going.”

Arthur looked up, confused. Anger resurfacing. He almost knocked Dutch down to the floor as he jumped at him, shoving him back, then slap, slap, to his face, left and right, before grabbing his clothes to pull him in, biting, tasting, biting... 

He growled when his crotch was groped fast and he was guided backwards and back, back, gentle step by gentle step until he was back on the couch again, Dutch smiling all the while like he knew what he was doing, probably knew... His hand remained where it’d been and his frame now hovering above his, lower now, so he could feel his weight on him as he bent and bit him, and he bit him back, nibbling on each other almost, rocking against each other… He slipped a leg between Dutch’s thighs, pushing up insistently to hear him groan, himself panting from want, struggling now to snake a hand between their bodies and free the other’s erection while his t-shirt was being removed. He hissed when fabric caught on his piercing, and gave the length in his hand a hard squeeze in revenge, moving to cup his balls, increasing the pressure till he heard him grunt, louder now, licking licking licking into his armpit, lower down, biting, teeth scraping, fingers of the other hand digging into his hips, then ass when the jeans and briefs were pushed down, legs hauled up to allow one leg of the jeans to be removed entirely, Dutch snarling when he pulled on his rings, hmmm, still fascinating, always, always…

Arthur was quick to grab both their cocks, stroking them together in a loose fist, loved it, the feeling of the other’s cock rubbing against his own bare member, while Dutch was distracted preparing him, opening him up as best he could in this position, which meant he had to move his hand away eventually amidst mutual grunts of disappointment, until he was ready at least. 

He fucked him rough. 

The hands circling around his throat increased their pressure, to the point where he couldn’t breathe well, and unlike previous times, this time it continued, not ceasing, eyes studying him cold and cruel, his own mirroring the sentiment, fingers circling the other’s throat now, willing to crush, almost. All movement ceased except for the concentrated effort to breathe, rage erupting, knowing he could do it, end it with him inside him or-

_**I’m too sexy**_...

“_Scheisse_…”

Dutch cursed, both having released their hands immediately. Arthur laughed, coughing, forearm resting on his brow as he stared at the other, panting, sweating, smirking.

“Should have made it soundproof.”

“The lower level is.”

He shook his head and Dutch hmphed, pulled out. 

“Arthur.” He sat back on the couch. “Ride me.”

He shifted lazily, almost reluctantly, till he was straddling him, holding the shaft as he lowered himself down, wincing when hands gripping his hips pushed him down hard. He bit his throat in reaction, licking licking as he began riding him, the changed angle making him hum, kiss kiss, delicious, hmmm, he clenched around the now thrusting member, brow resting on Dutch’s shoulder, tamed, almost.

“That the spot, hmm? Good for you there?”

He nodded in response to Dutch’s panted question, sighing to feel the grip of the fingers bruising his cheeks. He moved a hand to hug him, pulling him close so his own cock was blissfully trapped between their bodies, the friction hot against the sensitive head. He moaned when the tip of his cock slipped under Dutch’s ripped t-shirt, now rubbing against his abdomen.

Laughter, low and wicked against his ear. 

Didn’t last much after that. Pressed himself to him as he came, stars exploding behind his eyes, squeezed, down there too, so it triggered the other’s climax, came growling against his ear, driving into him hard hard hard, arms wrapped around him so tightly it was painful, kissed him, dying from joy, almost.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Wiping himself clean, he looked to Dutch, wearing a clean t-shirt now, the same colour. Wondering if he had t-shirts in any other colour, Arthur felt the remainder of his anger melting away, for now at least.

“Sure.”

The park at night was dark. Well, of course it was dark, it was night after all. It felt darker though the way they walked in quiet, new autumn leaves crunching under their boots the only sound that could be heard except for the occasional motor car passing by somewhere far away. They were in the rose garden now. He’d been there alone a few times at daytime in summer when the flowers were in bloom. Under the light of the moon the buck statue looked much less confined, like it was ready to stand and leap away at any moment. 

Arthur glanced at Dutch, wondering what he was thinking. Didn’t feel right though, breaking the silence. _They walked along, two continents of experience and feeling unable to communicate._ He turned his attention away and they must have walked in that fashion for about an hour at least when it started raining. Arthur realised he had left his jacket behind at the club. Dutch took off his and held it above their heads until they were standing under a dense evergreen tree, water drip drip dripping on the thick fabric of the jacket.

“This is where I would-”

He turned to look at him, expecting to hear the rest of the sentence which never came. He caught a glimpse of Dutch’s smile before he looked away. And so did he, waiting for the shower to end. They left the shelter of the trees and came to one of the park’s entrances. Took them another half an hour to get back to where Dutch’s bike was parked. 

“Let’s go eat something, I’m starving,” Dutch suggested once they were both straddling the vehicle. 

Arthur frowned. “At this hour? Come over to my place, I’ll make something.”

He looked hesitant but accepted the offer. At home, he gave Dutch a bunch of art magazines to read, while he himself prepared to cook, but apparently he was already bored cause soon enough he was in the kitchen. He could hear him walking about, opening the fridge, closing it, checking the cupboards, etc… Arthur was surprised when he suddenly felt him close by, standing behind him, arms now wrapping loosely around his midriff. He chuckled, trying not to mind the brief ticklish touch on the side of his neck. 

“Feed me.”

He half-turned to glare at Dutch, who had his eyes closed and was holding his mouth open, into which a sighing Arthur popped an uncooked mushroom. It was wolfed down. Next he fed him a couple of capers, another mushroom, a cherry tomato, all this while chopping vegetables, stirring the sauce, his nipple being played with and ass pawed and tomato juice licked off his wrist, hmmm, and cock growing hard… Finally he fed him an onion slice which was spat out. He got a bite on the neck for it and so had to kick the other man out of the kitchen and only call him back when food was ready.

They opened a bottle of red wine and took the meal to a small rooftop terrace, watching the sun rise as they ate, the weather being uncharacteristically warm enough yet to allow this. The rain-soaked city shimmered under the expanding light.

“What are you thinking?”

Arthur was pulled out of his reverie by Dutch’s voice, realising he hadn’t said anything for a while now. Some host. He poured them both some more wine.

“At this time of day, birds would be singing back home. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to living in a city.”

Dutch looked away, sipped some wine. “We get used to anything.”

Arthur watched him for a while, wondering if he should ask him about his past. Hosea had only given him a glimpse of it. Something held him back though. Thought instead perhaps he should try and lighten the mood. 

“So, Dutch…”

“Yes?”

He asked him what he thought about the concept of utopia, trying not to smile as the man went on and on, and on, and on, and on about his numerous ideas on the subject, how fascinating it was yet how natural, how it wasn’t impossible, how one should consider the gradual progress that was required for its realisation, how Arthur should read this and that work and not some others which were absolute rubbish, and how the answer to all things was-

“What’s the matter, Arthur? If you don’t agree-” Dutch suddenly asked, an eyebrow raised, mouth half-open, glass suspended in mid-air. “Are you laughing?”

Crap. 

“Trying not to…” Before Dutch could take offence, which he’d come to learn was pretty easy, he added: “Was warned not to ask about this particular topic. Couldn’t resist.”

“Hosea?”

“The very same.”

“Should have never let you two meet... What else did you talk about?”

“Daddies.”

“Daddies?”

“Sugar daddies.”

Dutch stared at him for a moment, then shook his head, sighed an ‘impossible…’, and refused to talk altogether, so they drank the rest of the wine in silence before heading back inside. Light flooded the flat now, giving a nice hue to the various plants placed here and there, also revealing the messy state of the interior. Tummy full, Arthur was feeling a bit drowsy. While a still non-communicative Dutch washed the dishes, he made coffee and put on the Chris Rea record he had been given by a photographer he had met recently. 

“Heard this one?”

Dutch dried his hands on a red and white chequered kitchen towel which he proceeded to twist several times before using it to smack Arthur’s bum hard.

“Hey!”

“You’re asking me, a club owner, if I’ve heard a song that’s been all over the charts for a few months?”

Arthur shrugged and rubbed his behind. “Just heard it myself… Bet you haven’t heard this one.”

Humming to himself, he changed the cassette to one Marston had sent him a week before with a postcard. The merry sound of country music filled the room, and he was much pleased to see from the look on Dutch’s face that indeed he hadn’t heard the song. 

“Bet you can’t boogie either, mister club owner…”

Arthur took the towel from the man’s hand, tied it like a neckerchief around his throat before pulling him into a dance. Pretty awkward at first, mainly cause Dutch wouldn’t let him lead and he didn’t know how to do it himself obviously. Though finally they managed to make it work somehow, which didn’t mean however that they didn’t end up like laughing idiots on the bed when one of them tripped over the other’s foot. 

“I need coffee…” Dutch groaned, mid-kissing, rolling onto his back, sprawled out on the bed. 

Arthur groaned in agreement. The desire was there, both for the coffee and the sex, but he too was too tired to get up, in both meanings of the verb. All he could do was readjust himself on the bed to rest his head on a pillow, offering one to Dutch as well but he preferred to use Arthur’s belly as a pillow apparently. He was about to fall asleep when he heard him speak.

“I don’t know if I can give you what you don’t know you want or not.”

“It’s fine, isn’t it?” Arthur ran his fingers through Dutch’s hair. “Don’t see what’s wrong with not knowing. Could be inventive. Like astronauts charting unknown territory.”

“Been listening to Bowie again?”

He yawned, blinking a few times so as not to fall asleep, inhaling deeply as if the fragrance of coffee alone could keep him awake. “I mean why walk the same old paths?”

“Familiarity, security...”

“Is it secure though, say a conventional relationship?” Arthur murmured. “Just cause you sign a paper?”

“Not all people are so easily dismissive of what they’ve signed, Mr Morgan.”

“You know what?” He smiled impishly, staring at the ceiling. “I signed it cause I was being polite and all. Had no intention of honouring it.”

“In other words, you tricked me.”

“The way I see it, Mr Van der Linde, you let yourself be tricked.”

“Is that so?”

“Sure.”

“Should have known… Hosea did warn me.”

“About what?”

Arthur lifted his head slightly but let it drop back on the pillow when Dutch ignored his question.

“He said you drank that vile tea he made you like a champion. It was a prank, you know. Does it all the time to his poor guests. He was drinking darjeeling himself in all probability.”

“Shit… Done that to you too?”

“Tried to. Emptied it on his precious carpet and hasn’t pulled anything of the sort ever since.”

“What did he warn you about?” Arthur persisted, tugging on Dutch’s hair gently.

“Said I’ll break my own heart breaking yours.”

It didn’t make sense. What did that have to do with him tricking the man? 

“Well,” Arthur spoke at length. “I break things too. Rules are among my favourite breakables.”

“A rulebreaker, eh?” He could hear but not see Dutch’s grin. “In the wild old days, you’d be an outlaw, a wanted man.” 

“You still horny for cowboys, Dutch?” Arthur chuckled, letting his hand slip from the other’s temple softly along his neck and into his t-shirt. “What’d you be, I wonder...”

“The boss of outlaws. What else?”

“Not the boss of me.” Arthur yanked the kitchen towel still hanging around Dutch’s neck over his nose, proper bandana like.

Dutch pulled it down immediately. “Especially the boss of you.”

“Keep on dreaming, partner… Ouch!”

He tried to retrieve his bitten hand, but the other man turned onto his stomach and began wrestling him in earnest now, if a bit lazily, till they’d rolled off the bed onto the floor with Dutch landing on Arthur, half-hard, panting and growling. They licked and rubbed against each other for a while until Arthur noticed Dutch was feeling heavier than usual, eventually flopped lifelessly on top of him.

“Tired…”

“You want me to fuck you instead?” Arthur said in a hushed tone, kissing the top of the other’s head, letting the palm of his left hand slide up and down the firm curve of Dutch’s ass. “All nice and gentle like? Hmmm, cub?”

Dutch tilted his head upwards and stared at him, gaze guarded. Arthur licked his lips, thinking for a moment that he might just do it. He could if he wanted to, and right at that moment, catching a glimpse of the beautiful doubt tucked safely behind all the protective layers… He wanted to very much… fuck him… make him his… 

“You remind me of someone.”

“Someone bad or someone good?”

“Someone I used to know.”

For some reason he suddenly took Dutch’s hand to his mouth and kissed it all over. Felt strange. Didn’t think he had it in him anymore, spontaneous kisses and all that. Felt stupid. Arthur turned his face away. Was going to pull his hand away as well, when the other’s hand came to life and squeezed his, briefly, then let go. They remained quiet for a while longer. Arthur then removed his eyes from the shapeless clutter under his bed, reached and opened the nightstand above his head, taking out a postcard that he handed to Dutch. Not surprisingly, it took the man a while to make out what was written on the card.

“He calls you ‘pretty mama’? What sort of kinky relationship do you have exactly?”

“It’s from a song. Fellow is asking his woman to go back to him, cause he is no good otherwise,” Arthur explained, continuing after a moment: “Thinking of paying them a visit when Abi’s child is born, next summer probably. John doesn’t even know what to do with himself, let alone another kid. And I’ll need to check the ranch. Not sure how long I’ll stay.”

He took the card that was handed to him, held a hand on the nape of Dutch’s neck when he moved to get up. Their eyes met. He didn’t look angry exactly, but certainly withdrawn. 

“Would you like to come with me? I’d like you see the ranch and-”

“Meet your boyfriend?”

“Was going to say see my horses, but sure, meet Marston.” A pause. “I met yours.”

Dutch pushed his hand away and pulled himself up onto his knees, almost straddling him now. 

“I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspirational/featured songs:
> 
> My Heart Belongs to Daddy - various artists  
Come As You Are - Nirvana  
Don’t Cry - Guns n’ Roses  
Losing My Religion - R.E.M.  
Sadeness - Enigma  
Cowboys and Angels - George Michael  
The Unforgiven - Metallica  
I’m Too Sexy - Right Said Fred  
Looking for the Summer - Chris Rea  
Boot Scootin Boogie - Brooks & Dunn  
I’m No Good - Brooks & Dunn


End file.
